Demons in the Night
by MissMRene
Summary: Everyone has demons. Hers chase her to his apartment in the middle of the night.
1. Chapter 1

Matt isn't stupid.

The first time it happens, he sits up ramrod straight in bed before he realizes what has woken him up. It's the door to his apartment; the sound of someone – _clumsily_ – trying to pick the lock. His first thought as he silently pads to his entryway is that it's someone trying to rob him ( _"blind!"_ jokes the voice in his head that suspiciously sounds like Foggy), but by the time he reaches the door, he recognizes the heartbeat.

His body simultaneously relaxes and tenses, mostly because _of course she's at his apartment in the middle of the night_ and nothing surprises him anymore, but also because her pulse is too fast. The second his hand starts to turn the knob, he hears her shoot up with a speed she hasn't matched since Midland Circle.

( _They've hung out since then, the four of them. Usually "hang out" means "run into each other in the middle of the night", but occasionally there's drinks involved afterwards. He's pretty sure Danny is trying to adopt them as a surrogate family, and Luke seems more apt to joke than he used to be. Jessica...lets her guard down, some days, and others she doesn't, but then she seems to drift slightly closer to his side, and Matt lets her without judgement._ )

Jessica Jones shuffles from foot to foot, and he can tell she isn't looking at him by the way her chin sounds when it brushes against her scarf. He raises an eyebrow at her anyways, almost positive that her eyes will dart up to look at his face.

"Sorry, Murdock," she says finally, making backwards movements as if to walk away. He leans slightly against the door so he looks less tense, for her sake, and she mutters bitterly, "I shouldn't even be here."

He rolls his eyes. "You can come in, Jess," he answers dryly. He's sure that if he's gentle with her the way his "Catholic sensibilities" ( _thanks again, Foggy_ ) are telling him to, she won't respond well.

She hesitates another second, and Matt is confused (she's _Jessica Jones_ , possibly the strongest person he's ever met, and she absolutely does not wear her heart on her sleeve the way he does) until he notices that the tang of alcohol that always clings to her skin is stronger than usual. And –

 _Oh_.

She's definitely had sex sometime in the last few hours.

"There's a guy in my apartment," she says as the smell of someone else's sweat (and who knows what else) slowly assaults Matt's nose. He can sense her looking down the hall behind her as if she'd expected the stranger to follow her. Her head swivels and she looks him dead in the face for the first time as she insists, "I don't do cuddling and shit."

Matt backs away from the doorway and she shoves past him with a little more force than necessary. "I'll take your couch," she calls behind her as he relocks the door.

"The billboard?" He questions as he enters the living space. The sounds of her already settling into his couch and pulling the throw blanket over her frame makes him frown slightly. (He banishes any and all thoughts of Elektra sleeping there a lifetime ago, more or less successfully.)

"I'll be fine," she answers, her heart rate and respiration already slowing.

Matt just blinks in response.

He wakes up to the alarm on his phone the next morning, but notices instantly that his is the only heartbeat in the apartment.

When he slides open the door between his bedroom and the living space, the sound bounces around the room, echoing against the empty couch. It still smells like her, so she couldn't have gotten far. The blanket, he notes, is folded up again on the back of the couch.

She's like a ghost; gone ( _almost_ ) without a trace.

 _Author's Note:_

 _It has been quite a while since I've uploaded. Real life got in the way of me writing anything that I felt I'd be able to continue long enough to start uploading, as I try not to post anything I have no intention of finishing. However, this fic tugs at me, and I'd love to hear all of your thoughts. I have a few chapters already written in advance, so I'll try to set up a regular update schedule._

 _ **Please note**_ _; this work is quite a bit darker than some others I have posted. There won't be any explicit content, but for those of you familiar with these characters, you know they have some things they need to work through. Therefore, I will be touching on some things (like Jessica's past and how she is dealing with it now) that may or may not be a sensitive subject for you as readers. I won't be offended if this fic isn't for you ;) If characters seem OOC, that's because I wholeheartedly believe every person and every character has layers, so someone who is on the road to recovery (i.e. Jessica and Matt) may have setbacks. This fic will explore that possibility. (As a side note, this fic is slightly AU in terms of where the Defenders ended. Spoilers: In my fic, everyone knows Matt is alive and well. I probably won't be explaining how he lived or how he revealed it to the others purely because that's not the direction I'm choosing to take.)_

 _Additionally – I was unable to find the category for The Defenders in the upload options. I will be moving this fic there once it becomes available. Within the next few weeks, I will also start publishing this work and my others on AO3._

 _Thank you all for reading and for your support. Every time I get any kind of notification I get a smile on my face! Have a great weekend!_


	2. Chapter 2

The second time, he's pretty sure it's at least 2 in the morning ( _"or 2 at night depending on your day,"_ she'd say), judging by the sounds of the city. Bed hadn't become an option yet; his current case has more than a few dead ends and a lot of reading material. Papers and files are scattered across his coffee table, with the braille reader typing out still more pages. Its low hum doesn't quite drown out the beat of Jessica's heart at his door.

He waits for her to pick the lock and then come in. She shuts the door behind her and starts to creep into his apartment quietly enough that he realizes two things: one, that she thinks she won't wake him up, and two, that she fully intended to sneak in, sleep for a few hours, and then leave - in theory all without his knowledge.

Something about that scenario makes his chest ache slightly.

"Oh," she breathes, only a little startled. Her voice is too loud in the silence since he's tuning out the rest of the world to concentrate on her movements. "Figured you'd be asleep."

He tilts his chin in her direction but can't quite bring himself to actually face her. "Stuck on a case," he explains softly. Jessica is quiet for a moment, shifting from side to side, hands buried in her jacket pockets. The alcohol is stronger than last time, but not by much. Whiskey. And – a man too. Matt thinks maybe three hours before she stumbled to his door.

"You want the couch again?" he asks.

She huffs out a breath and brings one hand up to shove the bangs out of her face. "I don't want to interrupt you," she answers in a dry but overly-polite tone. At the same time, she takes half a step towards him.

Matt shuffles the pages in his hand, feeling the bumps so he knows where he is at in the information. "It's alright," he says finally. "I was almost done anyways." He's lying, but her whole frame relaxes so either she hasn't noticed or she's going to let him.

"Okay." She stomps back to the door, but before he can stop her from leaving he hears her toeing her combat boots off and her sock-clad footsteps returning. She settles on the couch next to him while he gathers up the last of the files, stacking them neatly on the corner of the table. He slows his movements to give himself more time to catalog her at a close proximity. She seems – tired. On anyone else he would say _sad_ but it doesn't quite fit with the rest of what he knows about her. Her whole body slumps forward as if gravity is stronger on his couch than anywhere else.

Matt finally turns to face her. "Jessica-" he starts to say, but she immediately sits straight up and looks straight at him, as if daring him to ask. Her heart rate pitches and he gets the sense that maybe she's more sober than she's letting on.

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Never mind," he mutters. He stands, making his way around the table and to his room. Behind him, she huffs out a breath, but her heart settles.

"Murdock," she says, just a little too loud. He pauses in his steps with a hand on his sliding door, tilting his chin up sharply so she knows he's listening. Jessica waits another beat before letting out softly, "Thanks."

It's unclear whether she means for letting her sleep on his couch or for not asking why she needs to.

He turns back towards her just enough that she'll know he's telling the truth when he says, "Anytime, Jess."


	3. Chapter 3

The third time, _he isn't even home_.

Foggy invited him out for drinks, and of course Karen had shown up too. Josie's is just as seedy as ever (the table top is sticky and the booze tastes like it belongs in a car's engine), but it feels nice to be reunited with them. They were his family, once, and while things certainly aren't the way they used to be, Foggy's actions at the police station went a long way towards patching the three of them back together.

( _Matt had geared himself up for a lecture, but instead Foggy handed him the suit in a duffle bag. He called him "brother" and they hugged like old times. He shoved down the affection in his chest for his best friend, but honestly, part of him has only ever wanted to feel_ valued _._ )

He's right in the middle of laughing at something Karen said ("Honest to God," she's insisting, breathless, and it's times like these that he remembers why he was attracted to her long before his life became such a mess) when he hears it. He chokes, tilting his head to catch it again –

Yes. He wasn't wrong. A tiny metal sound, clinking against the lock to his apartment. Jessica's heartbeat too ( _of course, because why should he expect anything less_ ). For the first time, anger pulses in his chest. _Three times!_ And of course, she's been MIA outside of the nights she shows up at his door, so he can't just _fucking ask her what is going on_. It's been almost two weeks since the last time, and since then, Matt has run into both Danny and Luke, but the feeling in his chest rose up again, preventing him from asking if they've talked to her – or better yet, if she shows up at their places too after she has sex. ( _For some reason, he can't bring himself to admit that he hopes she doesn't._ )

"Matt?" he suddenly notices Karen saying. He rolls his neck to shake off the sound of Jessica entering his apartment, only then realizing that the table is silent and Foggy has tensed by his side. He's pretty sure that if he could see, he would know his friends are exchanging worried looks, but as it is, their hearts don't sound quite right. "Is everything okay, Matt?" Karen asks, concern lacing her tone.

He inhales sharply, then: "Yeah, I'm – it's fine. Someone…" He lets himself trail off as he strains to hear Jessica again, but all is silent.

"Matt, are you…" Foggy hesitates, his tone laced with a mixture of concern and maybe a little frustration. He lowers his voice as he continues, "Is this about your other life?"

Karen chokes on her drink.

Matt shoots Foggy _A Look_. "No, of course not. I told you, I'm cutting back." He knows he sounds frustrated and resigned, but they've discussed it enough times that Foggy knows it's a sore subject. "It's just…" he sighs, unsure if she would be okay with him talking about her…nighttime activities. ( _Though in truth, he finds himself wanting to hold that information close to himself, just like the pressure in his lungs whenever she shows up._ ) "It's just Jessica," he finally admits, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

His friends go quiet again for a moment, probably having a conversation with their faces that Foggy is choosing not to narrate like he normally does.

( _Having superior control over his senses is nice. Matt reminds himself often to be grateful. Most blind people aren't as lucky; they don't get to sense all the movement around them. However, he still misses_ subtlety. _He misses things, like his friends having a conversation with their facial expressions. He wishes he could see, so he could tell the emotional from the stoic by more than just their voices._

 _He wishes he could see, so that he had a mental picture of Elektra before she died. The knowledge of the look Foggy and Karen's faces when he hurt them, as a reminder to never do that again. Claire's relief that he lived after Midland Circle._

 _He wishes he could see, because he gets the feeling Jessica lets her guard down around him since he can't call her out on it._ )

Matt hears Karen push her hair back, away from her face. "Jessica Jones?" she confirms. At Matt's nod, she asks, "Is she safe?"

He notes the way she worded it (not _okay,_ but _safe_ , because sometimes those things are mutually exclusive). "I'm not really sure," he admits slowly. "She – she shows up at my place, sometimes. It's been a while though…" he frowns at Karen's stillness and Foggy's fingers reaching towards him to grab his sleeve. Foggy retracts his hand though, as Matt says, "I should probably go check on her."

"Okay," Karen responds with a careful nod. "Be careful, alright Matt?"

He isn't sure if she means physically or emotionally, but he can practically _hear_ Foggy's irritation. They fumble through quick goodbyes before he darts out of Josie's. He walks rather than taking a cab purely because he needs to blow off some steam. His feet move faster than his white cane does as he flicks it unconsciously across the sidewalk. There's a feeling clawing at him that is distinctly _different_ than the one he usually associates with Jessica; the one that doesn't have a name yet. This one scratches at him, white-hot.

( _"Those Murdock boys. They've got the devil in 'em."_ )

He reaches his apartment in almost record speed, taking the stairs two at a time. He goes for the doorknob, only to find that _she left the door unlocked_ and that's when he snaps.

She's sitting upright on the couch. Her knees touch her chest and her arms clamp around her legs. The air brushes against her hair that curtains her face. And, _oh, she feels vulnerable,_ he recognizes, because as soon as she hears him her feet drop to the ground and she brushes her hair back from her eyes. She wipes her cheeks in the same movement.

 _Jessica Jones is crying on my couch_ , Matt thinks, and all at once he feels like cool water has been thrown over his senses. The pressure in his chest that spurred him towards her in anger eases, and instead the devil paces in its cage, wanting _blood_ from whoever made _Jessica_ upset.

He takes a deep breath. He can feel her watching his every movement, waiting, he thinks, for him to unleash the rage. Instead he slowly takes off his jacket and hangs it up on the hook behind him. Matt toes off his dress shoes at the heels, lining them up at the wall, and places his white cane on the bench below the hooks on the wall. He doesn't look away from her direction. Instead, he slowly comes towards the couch, and she follows his movements by moving as little as possible (though he knows she hasn't looked away once).

Jessica sits tensely, though he doesn't think it's directed at him, not really. He lowers himself to sit, but not on the couch. He figures it will be easier for both of them if they're facing each other. So he settles on the edge of his coffee table, his elbows resting on his knees, with his head tilted enough that she can see his facial expressions and knows that he's sensing hers.

She bites the inside of her cheek and nods slowly (a slight tinge of blood touches his nostrils). She glances away, towards the huge windows in his living room. She's still stiff, but not as much as when he first entered the room.

"Is this where you ask me what the fuck I'm doing, Murdock?" Jessica bites out, and he's surprised she talked first.

Matt inhales slowly, unsure how to handle her. "Is this where you want me to?"

She huffs a bitter laugh, and her head swings to look at him again, but she doesn't answer either. She's more sober than the last two times they've done this, he realizes. But there's a half-empty bottle of vodka by her feet.

 _And her skin doesn't smell like a nameless man from some dive bar_.

Matt isn't stupid.

"Look, Jess, I don't mind if you want to use my place as some kind of safety net, but-"

"I never _asked_ you to take care of me, Matt," she spits.

He pushes his palms against his thighs as he says, "That why you keep showing up in the middle of the night?"

Jessica is standing faster than he recognizes her intent to, with a "Fuck off, Murdock," in her wake. He thinks she's angry enough to storm out, but she wavers and he knows the only person she's upset with is herself.

He sighs. "We'll need to get you a key," he states after a beat of silence.

Her hair swishes sharply as she whips her head to check that he's not lying. It isn't how he had intended to finish his thought before, but that doesn't make it any less true. She must find whatever she's looking for in his face, even though he isn't looking up at her, because she thuds back onto the couch unceremoniously. She takes a long sip of the vodka and wipes the excess moisture from around her mouth. Matt watches. The world on fire around her, and she's the sharpest flame.

The air is quiet. The city sounds the same as it always does at midnight, and distantly he realizes this is the earliest she's ever shown up to his place.

Jessica is observing him. He can feel it by the sound of her breathing, the thumping of her heart. She does this, sometimes; he felt it the first time when she told her client's daughter about his dad. The impression of her gaze is just as heavy now as it was then.

Finally, she sighs heavily, and relaxes into the back of the couch. "I'm an asshole," she proclaims.

"Understatement of the year," he acknowledges with a smirk. She snorts, and her hand that isn't around the neck of the bottle shoots forward to flash him the middle finger (even though there isn't any malice behind her movements). And this is familiar; this _makes sense_. The tension in the air seeps out as if it had never been there at all.

"No spandex tonight?" she asks casually, but something in her tone alerts him that the question is more important than it sounds.

"I've been, ah, going out less." He scratches the back of his neck unconsciously, trying to make it more seem relaxed than he feels. "For Foggy's sake. And Karen."

Jessica nods slowly. "The blondes?"

He imagines she'd seen them at the police station, before, but something about the remark rubs him the wrong way. "Yeah. They're…they worry about me. They're my _friends_ ," he tries to say, but it sounds just a little too close to _"It's not like that."_ Not that he has anything to hide. ( _Or owes Jessica anything._ )

She doesn't answer right away, but when she does, her voice sounds distant, like her thoughts are far away in comparison to her physical body. "That must be nice. Having friends."

There's a hundred different ways the conversation could go. Matt feels like he's playing chess. He resists the urge to call her out on getting a little too intimate with her… _friends_ …like he wants to. Instead he smirks and says, "I _literally_ just offered you a key to my apartment so you stop breaking and entering."

"What, you gonna press charges, jackass?" she shoots back teasingly, but it sounds gentle (if he didn't know better, a little like an apology).

"If it keeps you from doing stupid shit," he responds, the closest he's going to touch on the issue tonight. Jessica looks him dead in the eyes, and her heart stutters for a second before she lowers her chin carefully, acknowledging his reminder that the conversation isn't over and she's going to have to _talk to him_ sometime. He lets the moment pass without comment, and jerks his head towards the bedroom. "You sure you don't want the bed?"

She's wary again as she answers, "Nah, I'm good."

He rises, nods quickly. "Well…good night then, Jess."

His voice sounds softer, calmer, when he says her name.

"You too, Matt."

So does hers.

* * *

He gets up early the next morning. She's still breathing softly into the blanket that she always uses. He digs through the drawer in his kitchen as quietly as possible to find a spare key that he'd meant to give to Claire a long time ago ( _in case of emergencies_ ). After a quick trip to the front door to make sure it's the right one, he silently pads back into the living room. Somehow, she's slept through his activities. He sets the key on the corner of his little table, where it will be the first thing she sees when she wakes up.

In the middle of taking a shower, he hears the front door shut. By the time he gets dressed and emerges from his room, she's long gone, the blanket folded in half and draped over the back of the leather couch like always.

She took the key with her. 

* * *

Hey everyone! My deepest apologies for the long wait. I actually started having computer problems (my monitor stopped displaying all of a sudden!) so I was unable to write. But here we are! I have a temporary solution to my computer issues. Have a great day!


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